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ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XI.
THE PAST.
Weep for the love that fate forbids;
Yet loves, unhoping, on,
Though every light that once illumed
Its early path be gone.
Weep for the love that must resign
The soul's enchanted dream,
And float, like some neglected bark,
Adown life's lonely stream!
Weep for the love that cannot change;
Like some unholy spell,
It hangs upon the life that loved
So vainly and so well.
Weep for the weary heart condemned
To one long, lonely sigh,
Whose lot has been in this cold world,
To dream, despair and die!
It is a mystery how fate sometimes answers to our secret wishes. All night one thought made Norbourne's pillow restless, and formed
